Rematch
by RedMonocle
Summary: Pre-SDC. One hot day, the older D'Arby plays a game with N'Doul. UST. One-shot. COMPLETE.


**A/N:**

 _ **[All characters in this story belong to Hirohiko Araki, Lucky Land, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, David Productions, Warner Bros. Japan, and all other additional entities responsible for the creation/ownership of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.]**_

 **If you were ever part of the Kingdom Hearts fandom back in the day, circa 2007, like… you know those Organization XIII shenanigans-type fics? Those were PREMIUM. I miss that kind of reading experience. It's like. My favorite genfic genre (you can probably tell from my favorites list lol).**

 **So that's kinda what birthed** _ **this**_ **. All that shenanigan jazz, with a touch of bittersweet at the end because that's just my thing. Basically, you can have all my headcanons about who Dio was/wasn't messing around with in the mansion :')**

 **Content warnings for: alcohol consumption, suggestive situations, mild dubcon, virgin-shaming (idk uh how else to phrase that), brief smoking.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Reddie**

* * *

By far, this was the most ridiculous wager D'Arby had ever taken up.

Several strays often wandered into the mansion, looking for shade away from the daylight, so it wasn't like a cat was a rare thing in this house. And it wasn't like D'Arby came by often, since his younger brother Terence lived on the premises. This was _one_ cat, specifically one _he'd_ been feeding for the past three weeks.

But suddenly some scruffy rogue with hoop earrings thought he could just scoop _this one_ into his arms and say it was _his_?

"I'll gladly gamble with you for him," N'Doul challenged, holding the purring feline close. "He's worth fighting for."

Eyebrows shooting up, D'Arby bellowed with laughter.

"Fine then! You name the game," he sauntered up to N'Doul, pressing a finger to his chest, before flicking it to his nose, "and I'll show you who exactly this sweet creature belongs to."

"Let's play mancala," N'Doul waved the hand from his face. "And I pity this cat if your breath normally smells this terrible."

With a sour smile, D'Arby retorted, "Admitting defeat already?"

"No. Just stating a truth."

On that note, N'Doul turned his back, tracing out a familiar path towards a parlor of the mansion. Prickled, D'Arby followed, loosening his tie. The heat out today was as ridiculous as this bet.

Still, he had to admit… such confidence titillated him. They couldn't have a _real_ battle. It would be counterintuitive, with both of them working under the same man, ultimately. But otherwise they were both fairly well-versed in each other's abilities. N'Doul knew full well that D'Arby was not just a skilled gambler, but also one capable of pulling the literal spirit right out of his body. That was enough to make even Alessi quiver in his presence. And yet N'Doul showed no fear, no hesitance, in claiming what belonged to D'Arby.

As they settled onto the carpet, the cat circled them, brushing up against D'Arby before climbing onto an armchair near N'Doul. Giving the cat a fleeting scratch behind the ears, N'Doul sank to his knees and opened up an ottoman. There, he dug out a pouch of flat marbles and a board. He blew the dust from it, causing a sound of amusement on D'Arby's end.

"So you don't play this often, do you…" He doesn't say it like a question.

"I've played it enough." N'Doul replied coolly, slotting the marbles into place, "I had to gamble for some years to make a living too, you know."

"How intriguing! Do tell, N'Doul. I would never have guessed."

N'Doul scoffed, "A man will do what he has to for his next meal. I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand that." Dropping the last marble, he threw his vest aside, and motioned to let D'Arby have the first move.

"Oh, please!" D'Arby retorted, taking his turn so that the last piece would fall in his pit. "I've played _hundreds_ of men desperate to preserve their lives. You wouldn't be so radically different from them."

"…We're playing for a cat."

"Yes," D'Arby harrumphed, now fully removing his tie, " _my_ cat."

Swiftly, he took his second turn. Quickly grasping his strategy, N'Doul played on the defensive, forming his own plan of attack. D'Arby knew better than to underestimate N'Doul's hearing, doing his best to obscure the sounds of the marbles hitting the board. But he carefully mapped out each fall, managing to steal large pockets of D'Arby's pieces within the span of a few turns.

At this, D'Arby grew much quieter, took longer to think through his movements. He fidgeted at the side as he waited through N'Doul's streaks, only giving up sounds of irritation at each steal. N'Doul's win seemed inevitable.

That was when the cat leapt off the chair, landing on the board.

With a chirpy little meow, he climbed into D'Arby's lap, reaching for the tail end of his discarded tie. Laughing, D'Arby dragged the tie around, then waved it in the air, letting the cat reach for it.

Mouth falling open in disbelief, N'Doul sputtered, "What did you do!"

"Well, well. To fill you in, it seems our little friend was more interested in playing with my tie than watching us play."

With that, D'Arby rose to his feet, turning away from the scattered board.

"Where do you think you're going?" Growling, N'Doul began sorting the pieces back into the slots, exactly where they were before, "I haven't won yet!"

"You lost before we even got here," Again, the cat gave up another small noise. Wiggling his tie, D'Arby said fondly, "I told you he was mine. I think I'll name him Birdy, for how he chirps."

On a mild pang of jealousy, N'Doul protested, "That's not fair."

"Oh, cry me a river."

Scooping Birdy off the ground, he walked away… but not without Geb slashing a hole through the back of his pants.

* * *

By luck, Terence happened to find them before any real harm could be done. Upon encountering his brother, D'Arby cowered, and backed off. Only when they were alone again did he swear to settle things fairly at a later date.

Now, N'Doul could accept those terms. After that, it had become less about Birdy and more about getting back at D'Arby for playing dirty. But, hey, it wasn't like N'Doul couldn't play dirty too…

Just the day after their game, D'Arby returned to the mansion, crackling with indignation when he found N'Doul drinking tea in the foyer. It was Enyaba's turn to grocery shop this week, and he had to admit, she had fine taste in good tea leaves.

She never skimped on expenses, specifically on D'Arby's request. The thing that pissed D'Arby off most was that Enyaba had bought that specific brand of tea for _him_ , and there N'Doul was, soaking it up.

"You stole my wallet," D'Arby accused. N'Doul remained unfazed, merely sipping from his cup.

"No, I stole the _money_ in your wallet."

D'Arby balled his fist, "You impudent little—"

"Master Dio thanks you for your contributions, and will be sure to spend it wisely once the sun has set."

At that, he felt a chill. Hearing D'Arby swallow nervously, N'Doul snickered.

"To tremble _solely_ at the sound of our master's name…" he chuckled, putting his cup back on the saucer, "you're such a coward."

"And you're such a _dog_ ," D'Arby spat back. "Pathetic, really. Giving all of it to him."

"Actually," N'Doul hummed, reaching under his chair to pull up a pack of beer, "not _all_ of it." Lifting a hand, he waved D'Arby closer in invitation. He didn't budge, merely narrowing his eyes.

"What do you want from me?"

"The rematch you promised." N'Doul gestured to the beer, "You run a bar, don't you? So I assume you drink."

"Correct…"

"Then pick a drinking game."

D'Arby crossed his arms, "And what will you wager?"

" _My_ wallet," N'Doul smirked, then added cheekily, "and my pants, if they fit you."

Usually, D'Arby would scoff such an offer aside. Low stakes weren't any fun. But his pride yesterday was terribly wounded from having to walk back home with ripped pants. So D'Arby instinctively took any avenging boon N'Doul could offer into consideration.

The wallet was probably worthless. His eyes certainly didn't mean to wander towards where N'Doul's fingers danced on his belt buckle, but damn, there they were. Honestly, the pants were quite form-fitting, and looked like they were almost too tight for N'Doul himself, so—augh! Why was he even thinking about this?! He didn't want N'Doul's pants!

"Ha!" He burst out, covering up his embarrassment with a harsh laugh, "I'm not giving Birdy up for that!"

N'Doul's expression shifted, and with that, he switched gears.

"Alright. Then if I lose, I'll teach you how to identify pages by touch," N'Doul offered. D'Arby paused, considering, and N'Doul pressed further, "I can tell from our last game that you're extremely dexterous, so it should be an easy learning curve. In future games, you could use that skill to know where cards are in a deck even when they're shuffled."

"How thoughtful of you…" With that, D'Arby nodded. "Then, yes. Fine. Empty your teacup for me, if you will."

Without another sound, N'Doul leisurely took down the last of his tea, and presented the empty vessel forward.

They took it to the dining hall, which was frequently uninhabited. A bunch of assassins had no need to gather for a family dinner, so there would be little room for interference. D'Arby set the terms for the game: a simple drinking contest, to see who could hold his liquor better. Using the teacup as a measuring tool, each of them would take turns drinking full cups of the beer in single shots without pausing. The first one to choke, spill, or stop drinking mid-cup lost.

Confident, N'Doul poured himself the first cup all the way to the top, licking away a drop from the thumb he used to measure the liquid's height. Again, D'Arby's eyes didn't mean to linger. But, _dammit_ , he had no right to look so sharp doing something so mundane.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Unlike you, I'm not a wasteful brat," N'Doul flicked out his tongue once more, a mocking gesture really. D'Arby let out a sound between a scoff and a hiss. He was going to enjoy wiping the smirk off this scoundrel's face.

"Ready or not?"

"No need to ask."

And with that, the booze disappeared straight down N'Doul's throat. D'Arby had to admit, it was impressive to watch. But no way would N'Doul be able to last like this, not against him.

N'Doul generously poured him the next one, which D'Arby took unflinchingly.

While downing his shot, D'Arby weighed the conditions. This brand of beer tasted something of middling alcohol content, and N'Doul was fairly lean. So given the tea, he had clearly eaten lunch before this so that his body would process the alcohol slower. Very wise, D'Arby thought. He had to commend him for that foresight.

However, D'Arby had a couple more kilograms to his build, plus his added habit of drinking whole milk to start off every morning. He had the luxury of waking up late as well, so breakfast hadn't been too far away from their little bout. Still, it was hard to call. They were closely matched.

So they went on, one after the other, keeping up a fairly steady pace, unwavering in utter silence aside from heated exhales. One drained bottle quickly turned into two, and then two became three, and so on.

At some point they resorted to distracting one another. N'Doul started humming some radio song, also obnoxiously tapping his cane along to the rhythm, fairly close to D'Arby's feet. In response, D'Arby would open the window screen to let a few flies in, killing them on the table while N'Doul was pouring his own cup. Then N'Doul would try to dig into his nerves by asking about why he never talked to his brother.

By the time they worked open the last bottle, D'Arby decided to throw out his own comment.

"I must say, you have a talent for this, N'Doul. You swallow so much with such ease," he grinned coyly. N'Doul finished pouring his cup, furrowing his brow only lightly, but otherwise unperturbed as he brought the beer to his lips. Then D'Arby added, "I have to wonder how often Master Dio makes use of such a mouth."

At that, N'Doul made a noise at the back of his throat, suppressing a surprised cough.

But too late, some of the liquor dribbled down his chin, and he spelled out his own defeat in a frustrated snarl. D'Arby just about cackled at him, taking the cup from his hands. As N'Doul's remaining coughs died down, D'Arby leisurely sipped up what remained, savoring it as an appetizer for the prize that awaited him.

Now, it wasn't just capturing a new skill he looked forward to. Rather, the sight of such a self-confident man humiliated for his benefit made for such a lovely portrait in his mind's eye that D'Arby couldn't wait to just eat it up.

For a moment, N'Doul stood there, pissed but contemplatively quiet, D'Arby waiting expectantly for him to say something. Flushed, N'Doul could practically feel the weight of the silence, prickling over his skin.

Eventually, with a huff, he relented, "Was _that_ really necessary?"

"Does it even matter?" D'Arby hummed. Then, chuckling, he replied, "I won! Now pay up."

"Fine. To the library, come with me," N'Doul sighed, grabbing his cane, "I pity you now anyhow. You could use a win."

Now, D'Arby tried to let it roll off his shoulders. He _really_ tried. But after following only two steps, this accusation had him bristling enough to tug insistently at the back of N'Doul's vest.

"Wait, wait, wait. What's _that_ supposed to mean?" With a scoff, N'Doul shrugged his vest off, slipping out of it quickly as he continued forward. D'Arby blinked a moment, before throwing the vest aside on the table. "Hey now, answer me!"

"Alright then. It just occurred to me you were so _curious_ because Master Dio had never invited you to…" N'Doul clucked his tongue, simply tracing his way out towards the library. He hardly minded the minor sway in his step, "Oh, well. You poor, untouched thing…"

"Untouched!" D'Arby squawked after him. "Please! I'll have you know my age boasts of many, _many_ romantic conquests!"

"Oh, I'll believe that when I see it," N'Doul laughed softly to himself, eliciting a growl from D'Arby. "I bet you don't even know what it's like to kiss someone."

"I can kiss _plenty_ well," D'Arby asserted. N'Doul ignored him briefly in favor of pushing open the door to the library.

"If you say so."

"I don't appreciate your tone, N'Doul."

N'Doul spun round for a moment, sounding whimsical, "And what are you going to do about that, _Daniel_?" D'Arby tried to contain his ire, but then N'Doul held his chin high, "Care to prove me wrong?"

Losing the last of his patience, D'Arby grabbed a fistful of N'Doul's shirt.

As he shoved him against the wall, he heard the startled hitch in N'Doul's breath, practically _felt_ that slight gasp against his own chest. And D'Arby couldn't help but grin at the sound, head swimming in satisfaction. He wasn't usually one to _physically_ pick fights, but N'Doul had pushed his tolerance far enough. D'Arby would be damned if he let him have the last laugh in this little squabble of theirs.

"Now you listen here. You owe me a lesson," he grit out. "But I can certainly teach a cocky little shit like _you_ a thing or two first."

N'Doul closed a hand tight around D'Arby's wrist, challenging him, "Prove it."

With that, D'Arby crushed his lips against N'Doul's.

It felt nearly like a fist to the face at first, teeth crashing together and whatnot. But it quickly yielded into something more along the lines of passionate, heat tempered down just enough to a degree where it could be handled.

D'Arby loosened his grip on N'Doul's shirt in favor of sliding his touch up into his hair, running fingernails over his scalp, enjoying the prickly, short-shaved texture just above his nape. And when he opened his lips to deepen the kiss, N'Doul clutched onto him harder, nails digging into his skin. N'Doul felt unsteady, head spinning a bit more from the alcohol than the present activity. Admittedly, it felt pretty good, but it was also sloppy and indelicate in ways he could easily best. Also—

"You have a _mustache_?" He blurted out breathlessly, as soon as D'Arby let up. At that, D'Arby huffed.

"Whaat, don't like it?"

"Hold on, I'm just trying to process it," N'Doul shook his head, bringing a hand to his temple. "God, I never would have guessed…"

Annoyed, D'Arby pressed inward again, biting into N'Doul's lower lip. He reveled in the small noise he drew from the back of N'Doul's throat. Figured he'd be into something like that!

"So then, who's the better kisser?" D'Arby purred. N'Doul scoffed, tilting his head aside to press a kiss under his jaw. Caught off guard, D'Arby bit back a small gasp, exhaling loudly through his nose as N'Doul licked over his pulse.

"I am, obviously," N'Doul huffed. "Unlike _you_ , I've spent some time doing more… intimate activities with our master. And given how generous he is to share his affections, I can also say with certainty that your brother kisses much better than you do."

"Shit," D'Arby hissed, breath catching as N'Doul nipped a sensitive patch near his throat, "d-don't talk about Terence like that…"

N'Doul burst with laughter, "Why not? Don't you want to hear about how much _fun_ he's been having around here?"

"Sh-Shut… uahh, _fuck_!" D'Arby yelped, feeling N'Doul suck slightly at the side of his neck. "Don't leave a mark!" N'Doul simply smiled against his skin, before backing off.

"My apologies, then. I don't think I'll be able to tell." N'Doul noted, pressing a hand against D'Arby's chest. "Though from how hard you're breathing, I'd say I've won this bout."

And N'Doul laughed his mild little laugh, but never had it sounded quite so scornful as today. And, _oh_ , that sound spiked an equal degree of scorn in D'Arby, but before D'Arby could object, could try to turn the tables, a small laugh resounded at the side. Both men turned at the noise, frozen still at the tall, shadowy figure observing them from the doorway.

"My, my. What an interesting sight," Dio chuckled.

And at the sound of his voice, N'Doul perked up, shoving D'Arby right off him in an instant. D'Arby made a minor grunt, more out of irritation than pain. Where did he think he was going?!

No, no, N'Doul had _no_ right to go prancing off like some cute, overexcited puppy in the middle of things. If it hadn't been for their master's presence, D'Arby would've yanked him back to the wall, to finish what they started. Hell, had it been anyone else, he would've even made a show of it! But the thought of Dio's eyes on them made him feel dizzier more than anything else.

"Good evening, Master Dio," N'Doul greeted. "Did you need something?"

"Why, yes, my sweet servant," Dio crooned, ruffling N'Doul's hair, before draping his forgotten vest back over his shoulders. "I came here looking for you." Then Dio turned to D'Arby, with a beckoning hand, "Both of you. This is important…"

And so they huddled up, taking directions, standing together for the last time in a mansion neither would ever come back to.

* * *

That next evening, N'Doul readied himself to lead the last line of defense out of the mansion. Hearing something suspicious going on by an open, neighboring window, he sent Geb far, far ahead of them. While they waited for his Stand to clear the perimeter of any spies, Mariah lit a cigarette and crowed a compliment.

"You'll probably make this too easy, N'Doul," she laughed, a puff of smoke on her lips. "In fact, I think you'll wipe all of them out before we can even get our hands on them!"

And N'Doul smiled, "Thank you for the vote of confidence. But don't sell yourself short. Master Dio chose each of us for a reason, after all."

True to his promise, he took a hardcover bible with him, planning to use it to teach D'Arby his page-by-touch trick.

It didn't escape D'Arby's notice as he took the cloak offered by his brother. Terence didn't say anything as D'Arby pulled the hood up to conceal the hickey on his neck. But the knowing, mocking smirk on his brother's face annoyed D'Arby well enough. Either way, they parted with a wordless goodbye, and all that filled D'Arby's head for the first part of their journey was a goal to wipe that smug, silly grin off Terence's face.

He'd show him. Once he had ahold of the Joestar group, he'd personally have them stuffed and preserved as a gift to Master Dio. Then he'd frame the tokens of their souls on his wall, and everyone, especially Terence, would know never to trifle with him again.

The trip took a while, as they scattered themselves along the way. D'Arby continued on until only he and N'Doul neared the end. They came up early by a few days, and spent a couple of nights in a shared room. N'Doul kept his word. With that, the lessons began, and ended after only two days.

"I have to say," D'Arby commented, a celebratory glass of wine on his lips, "you're an efficient instructor, N'Doul. It was quite impressive to watch you."

"And you were quite a pleasure to teach," N'Doul crooned. "Admittedly, you don't make for the worst company outside a confrontation. I'm even starting to like you, I'm afraid."

"After everything!" D'Arby gave a single laugh, "What a bold thing to say."

"It's the truth." D'Arby hummed at that.

"Then. I'll admit," he murmured, looking away, "the feeling is mutual. And I'm somewhat terrified of what we should face."

N'Doul listened as D'Arby confessed to the fear of dying, because of all the people that came back severely injured, and all who didn't. True, he enjoyed the thrill of a risk. For him, life wasn't worth living without the danger of losing. And he knew his strengths, could bluff and goad his way out of a fist fight, but what if it wasn't enough? What if he'd still be left as a puddle on the ground, with nothing to show for it?

"I think that's your last glass for the night," N'Doul declared, and before D'Arby could contend otherwise, the glass was pulled from his hands. "If you cannot trust in your own strength, then trust our master's judgment. As I said earlier," he tilted D'Arby's chin up with a single finger, "each of us were chosen for a reason."

"You. Really believe that," D'Arby said breathlessly, with a slight shake of the head. It almost sounded like a question, when there should have been no doubt in his mind. D'Arby _knew_ he was the world's greatest gambler. He didn't need anyone, even Dio, to tell him that.

But then N'Doul nodded, and it was the first time that he felt no need to prove himself.

"If that doesn't assure you, then take Mariah's words as a promise," N'Doul drew his hand away, sliding it down D'Arby's arm. "I'll kill all of them before they come any closer to you."

"Oho!" This prickled D'Arby's pride all the same, but with N'Doul's hand draped casually over his, it was a touching sentiment. "Willing to bet on that?"

"I'd bet my soul," N'Doul replied. "And when I win, you owe me a free drink at your bar."

D'Arby turned his hand beneath N'Doul's, moving to twine their fingers together. And N'Doul didn't pull away, simply squeezing D'Arby's hand in reply.

"I'll be sure to call a chauffeur to pick you up then."

Then when N'Doul disappeared the next day, he left the book in his wake. D'Arby picked it up, took a cab home to avoid attention. He thought of buying treats for Birdy as he idly fingered the pages in practice. And as he whiled away the following mornings with his daily glass of milk, he daydreamed of the sound of a tapping cane, mapping out N'Doul's steps into his bar. He waited patiently, expecting him to come in any day now.

He waited.


End file.
